


Reflection Of Me

by tayeah



Category: Naruto
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gender Issues, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayeah/pseuds/tayeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haku would do anything for Zabuza's sake, even changing what he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a fic with a plot, but more of a glimpse in how I imagine Haku would see himself and his relationship with Zabuza. Even though this kind of stuff – unrequited love and being stuck in a wrong kind of body – is painful, it's somehow fascinating to write about it.

I feel sorry for not being what you expect me to be. Actually, ‘sorry’ isn’t the right word. The fact that I’m not enough simply tears me apart.

I may be a talented ninja and I’m doing everything I can to keep it that way. You’re far above me as I see it. To gain your acknowledgement is all I aim at. It’s always been like that, ever since you found me and took me into your life. It was satisfying just to concentrate on being the tool for you to use, but nowadays it isn’t enough.

I’ve gotten used to stand next to the doorway, hidden in shadows, when you’re in the bedroom. I listen to the little noises you make when you move around the room, preparing for sleep.

You probably know I’m there. I’m pretty good at disguising myself, but what kind of master would you be if you weren’t able to tell you’re being watched.

“What do you want?” you asked once in that time when I was just developing this habit of mine.  
I swallowed, hesitantly stepping out from the shadows. “To be sure of your presence.”  
“Why is that? Do you think I’d fly off?”  
“No, master.”  
“Then what is it?”

These days I’ve been yearning to be more with you. I want to know more about you – what you like, how you move, how I’d be more of a use for you – just to be able to observe you thoroughly, I tell myself. I can’t answer.

“Go to sleep.”  
“Yes, master.”

That’s one thing I can’t do even if you tell me to. When you fall asleep, I still stand there, because the sound of you breathing is hypnotizing. Sometimes you toss and turn and grunt in your sleep, but that’s not very often and never lasts long, it’s probably just a passing nightmare or a bad posture. I don’t know what kind of dreams you have. Sometimes I step out from the shadows and watch you. I try to study your face carefully, and I tend to see expressions you never show when you’re awake.

You have woken up once when I was just looking at you from the doorway. You weren’t all that happy to have me just standing there and staring at you. You told me to get off and sleep, raging something about stupid teenagers and their lack of concern when it comes to personal healthcare. It could’ve been a sign of caring but from what I heard in your voice, I could tell it wasn’t.

Sometimes when I’m listening there it’s not only your voice, it’s someone else’s, too. All the noise coming from your room, the woman moaning, sheets rustling, the bed creaking slightly when you shift and tossle and manage your rhythm, is painfully familiar for me.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever pay attention on me standing there; maybe you are annoyed about my presence, maybe you don’t even notice it. I guess you have better things to concentrate on.

I have trained for hours for your sake, mastering my moves, always trying to gain a bit more than I knew I could have. I have exhausted myself. Sometimes when I wake up in my bed I can’t remember how I’ve gotten in there; last thing I remember is usually that I was gathering my last drops of chakra. We never talk about those occurrences. But telling from the fact that I am safely in my bed time after time, and my worst injuries are always cured, I have to believe you have gone to the woods I am always training in and brought me home. At my best moments, I allow myself to think it was because you’re concerned about me.

From around the moment I first developed the habit of listening by your door, I also stared at my picture in the mirror for hours, trying to figure out what to change, how to be better in your eyes. I learned to smile gently and carry myself lightly. I learned to be thankful for little details like my eyelashes and thin, light lips.

Slowly I could sense you getting more approving and considerate for me. I don’t know why it was; if it was for my changing looks or my good job with ninjutsu, it didn’t matter. Even if it was just you getting used to me, with nothing deeper behind it, I drank your acceptance as if I was dying of thirst of it. I yearned for more and more of it.

I cut off half of the amount my taijutsu exercises, then, after a while, I split even that. I preferred concentrating on ninjutsu. You seemed to swallow that – I don’t need muscles when I have a total power over my chakra. The picture in my mirror got a permission to change. I was thinner, softer.

I never cut my hair because you seemed to like it that way. Sometimes you were even gentle enough to caress my hair softly after a particularly tough training day. The touch lingered in me.

“You need to rest.”  
“Yes, master.”

What I see in the mirror now isn’t just what I want to see. It’s what I think you want to see.

Maybe it’s because of all the work that I’ve done that the last time I froze by your door, listening to the sounds of you two, was so different. I couldn’t move; I stood there, even though my pain multiplied by every creak of the bed. Your low growling made me unable to move. Why do you only sound like that when you’re with her, whoever she is this time?

When the woman left, it was almost sunrise. I watched her from afar as she collected her stuff, put on her shoes and slipped silently out from the door. She had a long hair, almost as dark as mine. I know she’s just a random female you’ve picked up from somewhere – another slut as you call them – and you’re not going to remember her afterwards. Some of them don’t even get to live if they say a wrong word. But still, they seem to be welcome guests for you.

I hate to be aware that there’s something in those girls I can never have.

There are things I want to do for you that I can’t.

The fact that I’m not enough keeps tearing me apart, a little bit more all the time, second by second.

But I can be your perfectly trained pupil, your tool. I can’t ever be sure if the reflection of me matches anything in my mind or yours, but this is something I can be for you. The more powerful I am, the more I’m making myself irreplaceable to you. After all, I don’t need you to just see me. I need you to need me.

And I’ll settle for whatever it is you need me for.


End file.
